I Know How Game of Thrones Ends

So I know how Game of Thrones is going to end..... Badly. In multiple ways.

Winter was coming for seven seasons.  And when it descended, oh boy, was it going to be pure awful. The war to end all wars. Or at least humanity. And then, in one sharp poke of Arya's indomitable spirit, the world survived. And then Arya's heroics hardly merited an asterisk. Even Roger Maris got more respect. And the snow melted. And we still had a couple of more episodes to get through.

And the endless succession of entanglements, with more houses than in Monopoly, more characters than the Khmer alphabet, more plot twists and turns than Lombard Street, all had to be addressed and put to bed in less time than it took for you to fall to sleep after eating that spicy food that always turns your stomach.

So the queen of all that is right and good suddenly has to turn into Kellyanne Conway in a nanosecond, Jamie Lannister who took six seasons rehabilitating himself after pushing Bran from that window, now wandered back into his twin sister's evil arms and under her villainous spell to his dying breath.

Really, it is all far too exhausting and far, far too complicated a task to take the entire universe and wrap it up neatly, or even un-neatly in less time than the average Yankee - Red Sox game.

This was the winter of my discontent. Winter came. Winter went. Winterfell. Along with a dragon or two. And all we are left with is uneasy feelings that come when too much is compressed into too little space in too few hours. 

Game of Thrones, soon to be gone with the wind.

Now that was a movie that knew how to create a perfect, imperfect ending.

As for how they try to fit a square peg into a round hole to finish off this series, frankly Scarlet I don't give a damn.